


Seabed

by jiminiespabo



Category: Free!
Genre: Free! Eternal Suffering, Free! Eternal Summer, M/M, Other, free! iwatobi swim club
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-12 06:29:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3347021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jiminiespabo/pseuds/jiminiespabo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haruka Nanase is a sadistic sociopath that goes out every other weekend to fetch his prey. Makoto is an easy target. </p><p>A story about two people from completely different backgrounds, who were brought together by fate. Or one's obsession with blood splatter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ey! Aight so this is an au I had in mind for quite a while, but only recently decided to make it a thing. I didn't write this fic, rather I came up with the idea and where I want it to go, and got someone else to help me out on this one and write it for me because I can't write for shit (English is not my first language oops), and it's finally coming together! So this first chapter is a prologue, and we both hope you like it! 
> 
> My instagram; @Nayagsa.Senpai  
> The writer's instagram; @Levisboner

It was 6:30 am; the day was still dark. As I tend to do whenever I wake up before my alarm clock goes off, I had decided to go to a morning walk around the lake northern to my house, to refresh myself a little.

 

The air was cool and fresh, the sky different shades of blue. I could hear the small rocks roll under the sole of my shoe, the earth crumbling beneath my feet. I was jogging down a small hill that ended by the lake, when I heard a sound; a branch snapped a few feet away from me. Scared, I stopped walking and hid behind the nearest bush I could find. I peered in between the leaves, more branches snapped and leaves rustled. A figure of what seemed to be a man made its way down the small path on the opposite side of the hill towards the lake. He was carrying some white bags and a cardboard box with something in them.

 

The inside of the bags seemed to have something dark and gooey, like blood, inside of them. I didn’t think much of it since a lot of people come to this lake to fish, carrying bags or buckets full of dead, bloody bait in them. What did seem strange to me is that he had more than two bags of bait, all full and heavy, and the box. I had never seen a fisherman carry so much bait since this lake doesn’t have a lot of fish in it. I ignored the bags and the box and followed his trajectory with my eyes. The guy, who could now be seen by the few rays of sunlight hitting his face, was in his twenties, it seemed. He couldn’t be but a few years older than me—maybe twenty-five? He got in one of the boats that had been left by the shore—these were here in case a fisherman had an accident or his boat wasn’t working properly—and started rowing his boat away from the shore. After checking the path, making sure no one was following the man, I got out from behind the bush and made my way down the path towards the lake.

 

Though the man seemed harmless, I was still doubtful about letting myself be seen by him, so I walked slowly and silently, trying not to make the branches snap nor the leaves rustle so loudly. I walked all the way down the small hill until I was close to the shore. To my right, there was a dock, where the man had gotten into the boat and rowed away. I looked toward the lake; the man had stopped around the middle of the lake, a great spot to fish. To have a better look at what he was doing, I walked around the perimeter of the small curve of the lake, which is where I always come to take a walk. Knowing this place like the palm of my hand, I knew where I could hide, the thickness of the trees working to my advantage. I usually don’t spy on people, but this man had drawn my attention with the way he carried himself; so confident and intimidating all at once. I was mesmerized at how easily he could take a step, one feet in front of the other, so easily and effortlessly, like he didn’t have a care in the world, but cautious of his surroundings at the same time.

 

As I was right in front of the boat, just a few meters away from it, I could see the man more clearly now: he had dark hair that looked black with bluish highlights when the sun rays brushed it; his eyes were an intense blue that could pierce through your soul. His profile was beautiful: his nose looking towards the sky, as if waiting for the sky to tell it a story; his lips were thin, small, and a soft shade of pink. He was wearing a blue, plaid shirt on top of a white tee and some jeans: definitely not a fishing attire. He reached his hand into his right pocket and retrieved what looked like a keychain from it. The small rays of sunlight caught something in the keychain. I squinted my eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of the shiny reflector. I couldn’t make out what it was until he raised the keychain and started cutting the tape on the cardboard box; it was a pocket-knife. He started retrieving more white bags with the same dark, gooey stuff in them one by one, but instead of opening them up to retrieve the bait from within, he started throwing them into the water. I was utterly confused. Why would he want to throw away the bait?

 

He threw about 5-6 bags into the water; there was only one more left. As he took it out from the box, a thread of the dark liquid started staining the floor of the boat. On one side of the bag, there was an opening of about 5 inches. From that opening, something was peeking out. I tried really hard to see what was in there. When I could finally make out the shape, I wanted to vomit. What I thought was bait in the content of the bag, didn't really seem like your usual bait looking more thoroughly.

 

The blood fled from my face, my skin now pale. I didn’t know what to do or how to react. I searched the man’s face trying to find some kind of repulsion reflected on it. But his eyes were expressionless and oddly calm. As he got rid of the last bag, he looked up towards the sky and stared at the fleeing moon. The sun wasn’t completely out yet—most of it was still hidden, only peeking a little, giving the moon one last breath. Not even the breathtaking view could relax me any more as it had done so many times before. I took one last glance at the man’s face—which I could swear was smiling now—before I turned around and ran.

 

In the bag, was a lifeless, mildly pale human hand.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haru goes fishing. He catches a Makoto.

I stand there, frozen. There is sunlight coming from the horizon; it is morning now. I stand on a field with tall grass and white flowers everywhere. I look around, trying to make sense of where I am. Have I been here before? No, not that I recall. I look in front of me, then to the right: the air blows ever so softly, barely teasing the tips of the grass, the white roses swaying forward and back. I turn left and, all of a sudden, the white roses turn dark red. The sunlight has also changed—everything is now a dark crimson colour. The air picks up speed, the petals falling off of the roses, hitting the ground and turning into liquid—blood. I keep looking around frantically; I can no longer breathe. My eyes can't be fixed on something; they won't focus. I look up, but everything is spinning and I'm falling. I am drowning, the blood, like quicksand, claiming my body and taking me down. I can't breathe. I gasp for air. And then… I wake up. 

 

I sit up on my bed replaying my dream in my mind. I bring my hands to my eyes, my fingers resting on my forehead. I smile a little. I get up from my bed and walk towards my desk.

 

My room is very simple, really. When you open the door, the bed can be found to the right and a closet beside the bed, big enough to store all of my clothes, which are not many; the only small window in the room is exactly in front of the bed, and my desk, where I have a laptop on top and a few sheets of paper, is to the left of the window. I pull the chair from the desk and sit down. I move my head to the right and then to the left at a hard angle, trying to crack my neck muscles. Crack, crack. I do the same to my fingers. Crack, crack, crack. 

 

On the right side of my desk, just below the little platform where my laptop is sitting, there is a drawer. I open it and take out my black Composition Notebook. It’s a black old, normal-looking notebook—nothing special. I flip through the pages carefully, trying not to damage them. Before picking up the pencil, I take a moment to skim through my last entry—I was looking for my favorite line, a line that I had reread many times after writing it. When I found it, I took a few minutes to read it over once again. The thrill it gave me felt as powerful as it had been the first time.

 

“The blood traveled along the plastic bag, marking its territory”

 

After satisfying my needs, I turn the page and start scribbling the details of my dream. Whenever I go out or have a nightmare, I write down the smallest detail of my ordeal. I try to not take long, since I’m not an avid writer, but I bullet-point the most important things. My entries are like a checklist, really—they’re just there to trigger a memory, a sensation I can go back to. Nothing more.

 

Once I finish writing down my dream, I head to the kitchen. There, I grab some fish from the fridge and a sharp knife. I run my fingers along the sharp edge of the blade a few times, each time applying more pressure until the blade barely rips through the skin on my fingers and blood seeps through the small and narrow opening. It’s sharp enough.

 

I start cutting the fish in smaller chunks, leaving the head intact. I place the head on a frying pan and start frying it. I concentrate on the sizzling sound of the fish as it burns, the juices coming out of the head in great quantities. It’s as if after death, it’s still suffering. 

 

I open one of the drawers to get some metal paper when I spot the bubble raps. I should start preparing the basement soon before leaving. 

 

I move my hands swiftly up and down, buttoning up my light-blue shirt. I smooth out the ends of the fabric and pat my black jeans. I stand in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection. I grab the brush and gently brush my black hair back. But something’s off… I move my hands to the buttons again and decide to unbutton the first one. I look in the mirror, moving my head slightly to the side. Perfect. I walk out of my room and stop at the table. I grab the keys and a black marker from a transparent glass bowl that sits in the middle and walk towards the door, just a few feet away. On the back of the door I keep this calendar where I x-out the days I go out and “hunt.” It is the last Saturday of the month of January. I scan the page and then draw an “x” on the box that says “31.” I throw the marker towards the table—it usually makes it into the bowl, but I miss—, then I open the door and I head out.

 

Today i’ll be going to this nightclub called “Eclectic” that is a few hours from my lake house. I usually don’t like going to places where people will recognise me—it’s too risky. I walk into the club and scan the crowd: many couples are dancing in the middle of the dance floor; there is a girl who is puking and is being taken out by the guys that just greeted me in at the door; and at the bar sit four guys. They don’t seem to know each other since they’re not sitting close nor talking to one another. 

 

I start scanning the dance floor again when I do a double-take: at the bar, close to the end, is a well-built guy with what looks like light hair, though I’m not sure since the colored lights are playing games with my sight. He seems to be alone so I walk to the bar and sit right next to him.

 

“What would you like to drink?” Asks the bartender, looking a little tired.

 

“Coke,” I say. He looks at me funny but I just stare at him until he starts serving me the drink. “Coke? Well, that’s odd,” says the guy next to me as a light chuckle leaves his mouth. I turn and face him. He goes serious when he sees that I don’t find it funny. I just don’t like alcohol. He clears his throat and says, “Um, I’m Makoto,” and extends his hand.I look at his extended hand and then say, “Well, that’s odd.”

 

As he starts withdrawing his hand, I quickly reach out and clasp it with mine. “I’m Haru,” I say. I never like to say my full name—it’s not relevant. We start talking about how he was forced by his friend, Hazuki Magi-Something, to come since it’s the guy’s birthday. He keeps on talking about how he’s not “about this life,” but i’m far from listening. The way his lips form such a natural looking smile, as if that’s their shape, seems way more interesting right about now. And irritating.

“I’m tired. I’m going home,” I say after he’s done talking. “Tag along?” I ask. I try to be as nonchalant as possible. Though his face is already flushed from all the alcohol he’s drunk, I can still tell he’s blushing.

 

“Tag along?” He stutters. “Yeah, I mean, to watch a movie,” I say, lowering my voice as I continue “or something.” His reaction was almost adorable. “Sure,” he says, blushing shamelessly. 

 

“Is it okay if I leave my shoes on?” Makoto slurs once we’re inside the house. “Sure,” I say not caring at all. I go to the kitchen and take out a Coke from the fridge. “Want a Coke?” I ask.“Um, sure,” he says as he sits down. I take out a second bottle of Coke and head to the living room. He’s looking around, scanning his surroundings. He looks like a lost puppy. It’s cute. I don’t like it one bit. It irritates me when strangers examine my house, but I couldn't care less because them being in my house in the first place means they're probably going to end up dead. 

 

“Here,” I say as I hand him the bottle. “Thanks,” he says. “Everything’s so… clean.” “Yeah,” I say. My white walls are bare—no paintings line the walls—everything remains undisturbed. I only have a small wire sculpture on a bureau next to the sofa of a crouching man who seems to be in pain, his hands covering his eyes and resting on his knees.

 

“I’ll be right back, going to change my cloths.” I say, not bothering to look at him. This should be an easy bait. “Just knock on the door if you need me.” I say, turning my head halfway through from facing him, making sure he can catch my gaze from the corner of the eye. This should do the job. His expression seems both surprised and confused at the same time. He looks to the side and nods in response. His attempts of hiding his flustered face are not working out for him. He really does resemble a lost puppy. 

 

It’s been ten minutes and Makoto hasn’t showed up. Is this guy not interested at all? I don't know if i'm more pissed off, or offended. His behaviour in the club has mislead me. I’m getting a little too impatient here, aren’t I? I have my reasons though. The most action we had going tonight was that introduction handshake, and even that was awkward as hell. I hope it won't turn out to be a complete and utter failure like last time when the meatsack I brought home started vomitting all over the tile floor and I had to send him home. I was quite disapointed. Was actually looking forward to seeing his body parts 

 

I’m annoyed. By now we should at least have sat on the same bed. This is going nowhere. I open the drawer left from the bed, the needle is there, along with the condoms and lube. These are just for show, however. Never really put them to use. 

 

I sit on my bed for a few more minutes before I hear quiet, gentle knocks on my room’s door. I just hum in response, not going to bother standing up to open the door for him. “Hey,” he drunkenly smiles. Does this guy ever stop smiling? It's getting on my nerves. Starting to question my judging. “Hey,” I say as I quickly stand up. A dim lamp is in my room, creating an orange halo at the top of my bed. The light from the hallway is brighter engulfing Makoto’s front in darkness. His shoulder muscle ripple beautifully in that tank top. I must say, while this does seem to turn out quite the failure so far, I do have a rather good taste. I look at his silhouette against the door frame and sneak in half a smile. “Come in.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm really really sorry, but the authour is having a little crisis, and she literally cannot write. So here I am, writing by myself, with my horrible english and my magnificent lack of creativity in writing. 
> 
> Tell me if you guys like it! If not, then I guess i'll wait until the person who writes these for me will be back! 
> 
> Really sorry for the wait. Took 4 weeks, I know. I didn't find out that she was having a problem until literally yesterday, so I wrote this on a whim. Woops. 
> 
> This is really short compared to the other chapters, by the way, because this is just a test chapter. 
> 
> My instagram; @Nagaysa.Senpai

“Hey,” I say as I quickly stand up. A dim lamp is in my room, creating an orange halo at the top of my bed. The light from the hallway is brighter engulfing Makoto’s front in darkness. His shoulder muscle ripple beautifully in that tank top. I must say, while this does seem to turn out quite the failure so far, I do have a rather good taste. I look at his silhouette against the door frame and sneak in half a smile. “Come in.” 

 

To my very surprise, he did not come in. He looked me straight in the eye for a few seconds with that warm, yet irritating smile of his, before looking at his fidgeting fingers. “I think I might’ve given you the wrong idea.” Silence. “While I- uh,” he says, scratching behind his right shoulder playfully, looking like a troubled child. If you’re trying to look cutely innocent, you’re definitely doing it right. “I do think you are very attractive, and, well, that is the reason i’m here.” And there goes the cute innocence. “I’ll just say it, this is getting awkward” he chuckles and smiles again, however, this time, it looks more of a compensation smile rather than the usual sincere one. “I’m not into one night stands, I think i’ll take my lea-“ “It doesn’t have to be a one night stand.”

 

Silence again. Fuck, did I startle him? Not like I actually meant what I said. As if i’ll be seeing him after we’re done today. At this point, I just want to get this over with, this is getting mildly annoying. I feel my eyes burning and my blood rushing to my head. I don’t like this guy one bit. It has barely been 30 fucking minutes and I already don’t feel comfortable with this guy around. 

 

Why is he so quiet all of the sudden, anyways? He’s not looking away from my gaze, yet he’s not responding. Any third person would think someone froze time. We’re not even blinking. Did we start a blinking game without my knowing? And why is his mouth open? Did he bite his fucking tongue off, I don’t ge-

 

“So you don’t mind me staying here?” Woah. Now i’m the one who’s startled. Slow down there, buddy. Or rather, step up your pace because i’m losing my patience here. “Not necessarily for-“ “You can stay.” I quickly respond, cutting him off, before he keeps on blabbering. Interesting how when he’s talking, he just doesn’t stop talking, and when he’s quiet, he’s as silent as a dead man. 

 

Which he isn’t far from being. Ha. I almost verbally giggled from my own joke. 

—————

 

“So what do you do for a living?” 

Where’s the off button on this guy? Fucking hell. 

“I’m a cook.” I keep my answers short and simple. Don’t want him to know too much. Just in case.

 

“Oh, really?! That’s really cool! I can’t cook at all, can be troubling when you have to cook for your siblings when your parents are out” Makoto says, scratching the back of his head, smiling widely. So he has younger siblings. Well, I guess he does have a very motherly aura. “Where is the restaurant you work at? I’d love to pay a visit!”

 

How about no. “Let’s save the personal info for later.” I say, looking out the window. Last thing I want now is to see his sulking face. Actually… On a second though… I kind of do. 

 

“Oh, right, i’m so sorry! You’re just so convenient, forgot we literally just met, heehee.” And again, that adorable, innocent, compassionate smile. Does he know no boundaries? “Your room sure is neat. And so is the rest of the house. Do you really live alone?” “Used to live with my parents, they left to Tokyo, however. I’ve been living by myself for around 4 years now.” 

 

…What the fuck am I doing? I’m revealing too much information. His eyes are mesmerising. He’s possessing me, I swear. I’m tired. And drunk. That is far too irresponsible of me, to drink while on the hunt. What am I doing? I don’t even feel like… Doing anything to him anymore. I just want to sleep. I should probably send him off. I did say he could stay over, but that was just on a whim.

 

“Haru-chan?” Makoto sounds a little concerned. When did I close my eyes? “Call me Haru.” I say at the top of my lungs, even though that’s as loud as a whisper, because i’m dozing off like a drunkard. Is he giggling? As adorable as it sounds, why is he giggling? “Haru, then.” I hear, completely blank of my thoughts. Fuck, I should really send him off. 

 

……......Why am I not moving then?


End file.
